Kathleen E. Woodiwiss(68)

Ruark knew these were the guest houses of the manor. They were hardly used, however, as most preferred the luxury of the big house. But of his summons, Ruark knew nothing. The woman had sought him out at his shack, saying only that she was Hergus and that he was to come with her. He was aware that she was a member of Trahern’s household staff, but he could not fathom the squire summoning him in this overly discreet manner.

His curiosity was aroused, and he had followed Hergus, wearing only his sandals and short breeches. She led him across the porch of the cottage, holding the door open until he went inside. It slammed behind him, and he heard her feet pattering off in the night. In some bewilderment, Ruark glanced about him at the small drawing room lit only by a single candle which cast a light barely brighter than the full moon without. The room was comfortably and expensively furnished. The carpet beneath his feet would have easily paid his bondage several times over.

A small sound intruded upon the quiet, and a door swung open. Ruark stared in amazement. It was Shanna, and her name escaped his lips in a whispered question. Like a pale ghost haunting the night, she came forward, clothed in a long, white, clinging robe, her hair wound with a ribbon in a single great fall down her back. Her voice was husky as she spoke.

“Ruark Beauchamp. Knave. Rogue. Murderer. Hung by the neck. Dead. Buried in a grave. You have vexed me much these past months. You prattle of a bargain where I say there is none. But I will honor it and pay my debt so you will have no claim on me. This way I will be free. So, as you say, for this night until the first light of dawn, I will play your wife. Then I will have no more of you.”

His abortive laugh ended in a snort, and Ruark stared at her in total disbelief. He wandered around the room and under Shanna’s regard checked the anteroom, the dining room, and even behind the silken draperies. He came to stand close beside her, and Shanna returned his stare as boldly as he gave it.

“And your good man, Pitney?” he questioned. “Where is his lair this time?”

“There is no one. We are alone. You have my word on it.”

“Your word!” His laugh rang with a sneering undertone. “That, madam, almost frightens me.”

Shanna ignored the sting of his comments and waved a slender hand in the direction of the bedchamber. “And would you search beneath the bed? Perhaps your manhood needs some recompense and bolster.”

Ruark turned his back upon her beauty. It was in his mind to flee the place before the worst of his fears was recognized. But his feet were leaden, and the thought of her willing in his arms began to cauterize his mind.

“I fear the game is entered once again,” he said harshly. “And I have survived so much that I am leery of what deeper fate you have in store for me.”

Shanna’s laughter softly entwined him as she reached out and caressed his back, tracing the long swell of his lean muscles. Ruark’s knees went suddenly weak as her cool hand touched him and wandered with its soft, silken smoothness, stirring his emotions until they boiled with merry pain in the pit of his belly. He ground his teeth and moaned:

“To hell with thorns!”

He faced her suddenly, and her hand stayed to lightly rub his chest. Ruark’s nostrils flared, and his brow lowered angrily. He would see what her resolve would bear.

Purposefully he reached out and loosened the frog at the top of her dressing gown. Shanna met his glare and only smiled softly as his hands worked downward until the garment hung open. She shrugged, and it fell to her feet, revealing a sheer, shimmering white cloth that resembled a gown of ancient Greece. One soft, lovely shoulder was temptingly bare while the other was bound with the same silken fasteners that had adorned her robe. The gown hid nothing from him, and Shanna saw the hard flint of passion strike sparks in the golden eyes as they moved upon her. Her full, ripe breasts swelled against the gossamer web that molded itself to her and to the pale, delicate peaks which thrust forward impudently. Ruark’s breath was ragged in his throat, and he could not still the tremor which had seized his body. He had already realized that beneath all her clothes Shanna was what every man dreamed of, a vision of incomparable beauty. Her skin glowed with the soft luster of creamy satin, and through the cloth he saw the inward curve of her waist, amazingly small in its unlaced freedom, the trim and seductive roundness of her hips, and the lithe grace of her limbs.

“ ‘Tis my one intent,” Shanna murmured softly, “to be your wife in every way, whatever your desire.”

Ruark’s long-starved passions flared high, smothering the anger and leaving only a small suspicion to nibble at the edge of his consciousness. This, too, he discarded. This night was fully worth the risk.